I watch my sprinkler’s desert-saving shower
continue the life of my world. I’ve lived
twelve years in this same mining house,
raising children, losing self, losing energy.

Almost forty-five, and my 9yr. old drives me crazy,
with youth. How can I stand it in my own rebirth?

There! A forward thrust! My sprinkler water
is filling my lake! My used-to-be-flat lake…

One dusk, last week, in a frenzy of self-pique,
I took a shovel to that flattened lake,
and I created a loch, and a fishing spot,
a beach for swimming and a gravel pit.
I built an island and a scarp of rocks,
a landing, and a peaceful pool.
And I felt good when the drops
of living water filled my lake.

But, I don’t feel so good, anymore.

The gravel pit hasn’t been breached, the loch
is shallow and dirty, a scum floats
on most of this lake’s now-surface,
dully mocking…us.

Because, I see the world in this lake,
separated by chance, luck or fate.
I see drought and food, and fools.

I am a fool. I can digress, without
actuality. I epitomize hypocrisy,
and I hate it. Self-flagellation
comes in many forms.

There are yellow leaves already
floating on my lake. The gravel pit
has been assimilated. And, if I leave
the sprinkler running, I will see
Oblivion, in the morning.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 6/25/04